Bragging Rights
by pineapplefan
Summary: Sam had the technique, Dean had the muscle. Teenchesters. Gen.


" _Coming to you live from the Georgia Tech Aquatic Center in Atlanta, we welcome you back to the 1996 Summer Olympic Games. Thank you for joining us on the second night of this swimming competition."_

"It's just now starting!" Sam said excitedly, over his shoulder, as Dean entered the motel room, carrying a box of pizza. He was perched on the edge of the bed, eagerly anticipating the start of the swimming finals.

"Awesome. Told you we'd make it back on time." Dean kicked the door closed behind him and tossed the pizza box onto the bed. He flopped down next to Sam and flipped his shoes off to the floor. "Which events are tonight?"

Sam squinted at the outdated television set as he read the schedule at the bottom of the screen. "For men, it's the 100 freestyle, the 400 I.M., and the 4x200 freestyle relay. And for women it's the 200 freestyle and the 100 breaststroke."

Dean frowned. "What does 'I.M.' mean?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know what it stands for, but I think it's when you do all of the strokes during one race."

"Oh, cool. That'll be sweet to watch."

Sam nodded excitedly. "Yeah, and I think the USA's the favorite to win gold in that one."

Dean smiled to himself, grateful that Sam was expressing interest in the Olympics. It gave them something to do while John was off hunting a Wendigo. Typically, Dean would've gone along with him. He'd been joining John on hunts more frequently, now that school was out and Sam was old enough to stay on his own. But Sam had been sick the day John left – down for the count with a nasty stomach virus – and John had ordered Dean to stay back.

It was the first time John had gone solo on a hunt in a while, and Dean would be lying if he said that didn't make him nervous.

Fortunately, Sam was already back to 100%, which was evidenced by the three slices of meat lovers pizza that he inhaled in less than ten minutes.

Freakin' growing teenage boys.

Dean watched as the participants of the 100-meter freestyle made their way to the starting blocks. "Who's that?" he asked Sam, when he caught sight of a swimmer wearing a cap with the American flag on it. The consolation final had just finished, and now it was time for the medal contenders.

"That's Gary Hall Jr.," Sam answered. "He's so cool."

"Is he the one that was diagnosed with diabetes?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. Type 1."

"All right, Gary, let's win one for the red, white, and blue," Dean said, as the swimmers stepped up to the blocks. He rubbed his hands together and scooted closer to the edge of the bed.

"This is gonna be such a good race," Sam said excitedly, just as the starter instructed the athletes to take their mark.

 _Beep!_

And they were off.

"Dang," Sam breathed. "Did you see the air those guys got off the block?"

Dead nodded, wide-eyed. "I don't know how they go so fast," he commented, as the swimmers made it down the length of the 50-meter pool in less than 25 seconds. They seemed to glide through the water so effortlessly.

"They practice like ten times a week, Dean. That's how," Sam said. He stood up to cheer at the TV. Hall was neck and neck with Alexander Popov – a Russian – as they made their way to the finish.

"C'mon, Gary!" Dean hollered, heart thumping in his chest. It was so thrilling!

The tight race ended with each swimmer driving their head and reaching for the wall. "Who won? Who won?" Sam yelled, waiting for the camera to pan to the scoreboard.

"Noooo!" they both hollered when they saw that Hall had been beaten by Popov.

Dean squinted at the screen. "He only lost by seven one-hundredths!" he exclaimed. "That's by what? A fingernail?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah." He clapped his hands together. "Man, I thought he had it!"

"Damn, that was so close! The guy who got third was only two-tenths behind!" Dean grabbed a piece of pizza and flopped back down on the bed. "What's up next?" he asked.

"The women's 100 breaststroke," Sam answered. "That 14-year old is swimming. Remember? I showed you her picture in the newspaper this morning."

"Oh, yeah," Dean said, wiggling his eyebrows. "Beardy."

"Amanda Beard, yes," Sam said, rolling his eyes because he knew what was coming.

"You've got the hots for her, don't ya?" Dean said, lightly jabbing Sam in the ribs with his elbow. He loved making Sam blush.

"Shut up, Dean," he mumbled.

Dean cackled and ruffled his hair. "Sammy and Beardy sittin' in a tree…" he sing-songed.

"You're impossible."

"Look, look, look – they're giving out the medals!" Dean said, pointing at the screen where the medalists were mounting the podium. "Man, it would suck to go all that way to miss the gold by seven one-hundredths."

"C'mon, Dean, earning silver is a pretty big feat, too."

"Nah. Don't you know, Sammy? If you're not first, you're last!"

The boys watched in awe as the Russian national anthem played and the athletes received their respective medals. Popov started to tear up when the medal was placed around his neck.

"Man, what a sap," Dean commented.

"He just won a gold medal for his country, Dean. That's probably been his dream since he was a little kid. You'd probably start cryin' too if you'd done that."

Dean scoffed. "Would not."

"You're so full of shit," Sam remarked.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Bitch," he said fondly.

"Jerk."

xxx

"Man, is it over _already_?" Dean asked.

Beard had gotten silver in the breaststroke, and then the USA had gone 1-2 in the 400 I.M. The USA had closed the session out with a gold win in the 800 freestyle relay.

Dean was pretty sure he was going to be hoarse for days, based on how much cheering and hollering he'd done at the TV.

"The swimming part's over, yeah," Sam lamented. "But shooting comes on next."

" _Shooting_?" Dean complained. "That's so boring. We get enough of that in our lives."

"That's for sure," Sam huffed in agreement. He flipped the TV off.

"What about track? When's that come on?"

"The track events don't start until next week," Sam said.

Dean stood up and started pacing. He was keyed up with adrenaline from the excitement of the night. He felt like he needed to go out and _do_ something.

And then an idea came to him.

"Hey, Sammy, let's go swimming!"

Sam cocked an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"Why not?" Dean asked. "The motel has a pool, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, but… we never do that. We don't even have swim trunks!"

"So what? Shorts will work. Come on. We're doing this."

Sam laughed in spite of himself. "Okay. Yeah. Let's do it!"

So Dean pegged him with a pair of athletic shorts.

xxx

"Cannonball!" Sam hollered and took a running start at the pool. Dean wasn't far behind.

The pool was nice, as far as rundown motel pools in Nowhere, Wyoming go. The temperature of the water was perfect and felt refreshing on a hot summer evening. The pool was about 15 yards long and 12 yards wide, which meant it was only a matter of time before Dean challenged Sam to race.

"C'mon, man, what do you say?" Dean asked. "Freestyle, down and back?"

But Sam upped the challenge. "No, let's do an I.M!" he said excitedly. They'd learned from watching the event that "I.M." stood for "individual medley."

Dean was skeptical. He knew how to do the freestyle and backstroke, but had only tried the butterfly and breaststroke once during a junior high gym class. "All right, but I need to practice a bit first," he said. "What's the order again?"

Sam – always a walking encyclopedia – reminded him that it was butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke, and then freestyle.

"All right, I'm gonna try the butterfly," Dean announced. "Let me know how it looks."

He pushed off the wall and tried to mimic what he'd seen earlier on the TV. He kept feet together and moved his hips up and down, kind of like a dolphin. Then he threw both his arms over his head.

He felt ridiculous.

Sam was laughing when he came up for air. "You look like a dying fish," he said from across the pool.

Dean wiped the water from his eyes. "Oh yeah? I'd like to see you do better."

Sam smirked at him before pushing off the wall. And Dean was shocked when the kid seemed to effortlessly execute the butterfly stroke. He had the timing down.

"Damn, Sammy, that was pretty good," Dean admitted, when Sam joined him on the opposite wall.

Sam beamed at him. "Really? It felt really awkward." He shook water out of his ear. "They make it look so easy, but I felt like I was drowning just now."

Breaststroke was a little easier to pick up.

"Just make a circle with your arms and a circle with your legs," Sam advised. "And lift your head for a breath when your hands get close to your chest."

Dean admired Sam's ability to break down an action and then outsource it to his limbs. He was fast learner. Always had been. He picked up on the hunting techniques John taught him way quicker than Dean had when he was Sam's age.

They splashed around a little more before they were ready to race. The lined up against the far wall.

"You're goin' down, Samantha," Dean said, because smack talk was mandatory.

Sam stuck his tongue out at his brother for a suitable retaliation.

Dean laughed. "All right, kid. You start us off."

Sam was glad to have that honor. In his best Olympic starter voice, he said, "Take your mark…" There was a dramatic pause, and then… "Go!"

Their race was close. Way too close for Dean's comfort. Sam had the technique, Dean had the muscle. In the end, Dean's pride remained intact because he pulled away from Sam on the last lap, but it was a tight race the entire way.

Dean wondered if Sam hadn't been sick the week before if it would have been a different outcome.

But for now, Dean was the one entitled to bragging rights.

xxx

They goofed off in the pool until the sun had completely disappeared beyond the horizon.

As they were getting into bed, Sam piped up.

"Thanks, Dean. I had a great time tonight."

Dean was surprised by the emotion that swept over him. Since he'd been going on so many hunting trips with John recently, he really hadn't seen much of the kid.

He missed it.

He missed _this_.

He realized then how important these doses of "normal" were. How much he needed to be a kid every once in a while.

He couldn't wait for tomorrow night when they did it all over again.

"Me too, man," he said softly, reaching to turn off the light. "Me too."

 **Fin.**


End file.
